“Rory, for one million rand, why do you run?”

Champions! The one question we’re asked so often and it’s the one I find the most difficult to answer. Impossible to answer. Cue the music. Cue the lights. Camera zooms in on my face. Lights become brighter. The audience goes quiet. Room feels warmer. 

“Rory, for one million rand, why do you run?” 

Rory looks around for a lifeline, but he’s used them all. He used ‘Phone a friend’ when he felt discouraged and needed some encouragement to go for a run. He used 50/50 when it was starting to drizzle one day and he decided against going outside. And he wasted his ‘Ask the audience’ that one time when he needed advice on what to do with those silly soft flask thingies that bounce around in your pocket like a half alive fish. So here he was, forced to answer the most difficult question of his whole entire life.  

Champions, do you know why you run? If I had to ask you for one reason, what would it be? For me, it’s like asking for my favourite song or favourite movie. It literally depends on when you ask, what mood I’m in, where I am, what the weather is doing, and how strong my coffee was. But here I sit with one million rand (or the equivalent of two days’ electricity on a pre-payment meter) on the line. For the sake of the money, this is why I run: 

  1. Sometimes I run because I feel fat and the thought of maybe one day needing a mirror to see, um, well, that stuff down there terrifies me. 
  2. Sometimes I run because I have no content left in my brain. I’ll have nothing at all. And, without fail, every single time, within the first kilometre, I have at least 10 more ideas for videos to record on the driver’s seat of my car, half a one-man comedy show and a week’s worth of stuff for my radio show too.
  3. Sometimes I run because I miss all my other crazy beautiful people who also run. Also, there’s just something special about getting out of your car at 04h52 in the morning and seeing other lunatics who are doing the same!
  4. Sometimes I run because I have FOMO after seeing someone else’s run on social media, with photos captioned, “Easy shakeout with my besties!” Easy shakeout? You did 22km in 2 hours Barbara! Stop showing off! 
  5. Sometimes I run because I feel anxious and Google tells me that running is the best thing for anxiety. I disagree. A R100-million Powerball win would do the job too.
  6. Sometimes I run because I remember how absolutely amazing it feels when you finish and that beautifully perfect and delicious rush of accomplishment you get when you stop your watch at the end. You feel invincible. OK, I lie. None of this is true. It’s because I know there’s a triple shot flat white waiting for me.
  7. Sometimes I run because I remember I’ve signed up for that little 90km run between Durban and Pietermaritzburg and in the words of someone famous but I can’t remember who, “Those 90km are not gonna run themselves!”  

So, Champions, for one million rand, why do I run? I’ll tell you. Because somewhere between that first and last kilometre, while I’m doing it to keep lean and healthy, to get my creative juices flowing, to calm the FOMO, to kill the anxiety, to get that coffee at the end, to see my friends and to train for that beautiful 90km fun run, I remember it’s the one place the scam callers can’t find me! I love you. 2-nils.

Running with Rory

Champions! The funniest thing happened to me this afternoon. I was sitting, minding my own lazy business, when I saw a message come through from Richard from Modern Athlete – he’s the guy in the cow suit. 

The message read, and I quote: “Dude, hope all is magic on your side and you’re loving your Toyota! Please can you send me your video and article?”

And then for seven seconds, I went completely blank. What video and article is this oke looking for? About what? Where am I? What’s going on? And then hit me! This is about RUNNING! But I haven’t been running in what feels like decades! The last thing I can remember about running was fighting for my life somewhere between PMB and Durban, convinced I was never going to make the 12-hour cut-off. 

How am I going to produce a video AND an article for Modern Athlete on running when I don’t even know where my running shoes are? And then I remembered the last time we chatted was before the Comrades Marathon, so technically I HAVE been running since I last put my thoughts on this very page, so I’ll tell you about that 89.98km run!

Champions, I’m not going to lie or candy-coat anything; the 8th of June 2025 was one of the toughest days of my life. We’re all friends here, so I’ll tell you how it started. With about 30 minutes until the start, my tummy started saying it needed to go! As runners, we all know that desperate feeling.

Now I’m 14 million people deep in a starting pen, and there is absolutely no chance I’m getting out and finding a portaloo and then getting back in time. So, I decided to hold it. I mean, there’ll be toilets somewhere during the first few kilometres, surely?

And, as luck would have it, there were portaloos about 5km into the race. And they were positioned right on a corner where there was a massive crowd of people cheering. Nothing better than an audience as you prepare to let loose. I dropped a gear, put on my indicator and pulled off the road. There was a queue at the toilets. Of course, there was. So, I had to wait. 

I eventually had my turn. What a relief. I sat there, almost forgetting I still had 85km to run. Not sure how long I was in there, as I think I zoned out at the relief of it all. And then I heard it. It was so loud, it made me jump up. It was silent. I was sitting in a portaloo on Comrades Marathon race day and couldn’t hear anyone. 

I opened the door and as I reinstated myself back into reality, I realised there were absolutely no runners left. I was now literally right at the back. As in, I was stone last. And it’s not like the other runners were close either. They were at least a kilometre ahead as I looked up the hill that awaited me. 

But that wasn’t the worst of it. The stress and anxiety of being last of over 20,000 runners was the least of my worries. As I came out from behind the row of portaloos, and wanted to just slip back into the race quietly without anyone noticing me, I heard the crowds erupt! It was like I had just won the whole race! The cheering was next level. 

And then it hit me: They all knew I was in there, and they were waiting for me to come out. But how long was I even in that portaloo? Where was I? Who was I? At that point, I hardly knew, but one thing’s for sure. I had never before the 8th of June 2025, been applauded for having a poo! I love you. 2-nils. 

Want to read more columns from Rory?

April Column : Champions, Rory has an important message for all of you, we have all done it, run that race we shouldn’t for one reason or another. His story serves as a warning to all of you, as much as you think you can, sometimes you shouldn’t.

The Running Comic: As one of the funniest guys of running in South Africa, Rory Petzer is almost always laughing (in between eating)… except in the 2022 Comrades. He reckons he had nothing to smile about that day! 

The Running Comic

As one of the funniest guys of running in South Africa, Rory Petzer is almost always laughing (in between eating)… except in the 2022 Comrades. He reckons he had nothing to smile about that day! Happily, the 2023 race went much, much better, and now he’s ready to take on the running world. As long as it doesn’t keep him away from his dogs too long, and he can be left in peace to think of his next jokes. Let’s just say there’s a lot going on in this comedian’s head! – By Sean Falconer