The Story of Leon Nel, Michele Cilliers & Melinda Vos Du Toit

The strange thing about inspiration is that the harder you look for it, the more elusive it will seem. Every week, I sit down and think who I’m going to interview for the blog, and then I somehow manage to meet with an incredible South African person with an equally extraordinary story. I’m not sure how many of the weekly Smooch readers have noticed, but this article doesn’t quite follow the regular format… because alas – I chose not to interview anybody this week. There was no wonderful encounter with somebody whom I’ve never before met. But, before your eyes widen any further and you begin to wonder what the point of this long-winded story is, just allow me a few moments to explain. In all honesty, I first began Smooch Africa because I wanted to write about people who make a difference, who uplift others through their actions. This week, I’m putting down my notebook and not asking any questions, and instead, I would like to tell you a story that has unfolded in my life over the past three years. Life sometimes walks very funny paths with people, but in the end, you begin to understand why. This is the story of my mother (Michele Cilliers), her brother and my uncle (Leon Nel), and an amazing and crazy sportswoman called Melinda Vos Du Toit.

About three years ago, my mother and I were both very involved with a cancer organisation called “Cancervive”, and at that stage, we were well on our way on their annual motorcycle tour around South Africa as part of the media team. One evening whilst we were on this trip, my uncle Leon called my mom, and told her that he felt a lump in his breast. At first, we both thought that he was joking, but soon it became apparent that the matter was much more serious. At the time, I didn’t even know that men could get breast cancer, but soon after we returned from Cancervive, the news broke that Uncle Leon was a rarity, a figure, a one percent. Yes, it’s true, only one percent of the male population across the world has been diagnosed with breast cancer. My first reaction was shock and complete disbelief – my mom had always told me about how Uncle Leon had never smoked, nor drank, and was by far the sportiest sibling of the three when they were growing up. As in the case of every grieving person, we asked many questions. How could this happen? Why was it happening to him?

It was an extremely hard blow for my mom. She had always been very close to her brother, and she didn’t understand why something as serious as cancer could happen to such a good person. I take my hat off to Uncle Leon, because although the journey ahead was very, very daunting, somehow he always managed to stay unwaveringly positive. There was never a time when I spoke to him that he didn’t have a smile on his face, and in all the time that he received chemotherapy, he never missed even one day of his work. Mom was there every step of the way, and despite the despondency of the situation, it was actually quite beautiful to see their bond strengthening. They became closer than ever before – she would meet him without fail when he came through to Pretoria from Benoni, where he lives, for weekly “chemo and coffee” sessions. They still talk every day on the cell phone, usually when mom is sitting with her cup of coffee and Uncle Leon is on his way to work. More often than not, there’s a second phone call somewhere in the day.

On a side note, there is one other important thing you need to know about my mom: she’s always been in love with running. She finds solace in her sport as I do in my writing. Running wove a golden thread through my childhood, and one of my favourite stories to hear is when mom decided to run her first marathon shortly after she had given birth to me. As she didn’t want to leave me with a babysitter whilst I was still so young, I simply came with to the gym in my carry cot, happily dozing off as mom ran on the treadmill. There was absolutely no bad situation that LSD (long slow distance, for the non-runners amongst us) could not make better. In a way, this rung true even in the situation of my uncle.

On the 10th of June this year, my mom decided to run the Dawn-2-Dusk 12 hour circuit race, and the inspiration partly came from Smooch Africa. That was the day that I interviewed Johan van der Merwe, who set the course record in 2011. Soon after Johan’s article came out on the blog, the decision was made – my mom would once dare to run the Dawn-2-Dusk, this time in a team of two. When I talked to her about it post finishing the race, she gave me a lot of insight into her way of thinking about it. She said that even though she could be there for my uncle during his cancer journey, it was fundamentally a path that he would walk by himself. Nobody could do it for him, and in the same vein, with him. Being a lot younger than both of her brothers are, my mom has fond memories of growing up next to the athletics field where they were training or competing. By doing the Dusk-2-Dawn, my mom would pay tribute to Uncle Leon in the way that she knew best. It was settled – on the 26th of August, my mom and a partner would run the Dawn-2-Dusk.

Never in my life have I ever heard of a team that only had one person in it though. Queue Melinda Vos du Toit, or Vossie, as we know her, who has always been a good friend of my mom’s. She is the head of the sports department at St Mary’s DSG, and for much of her life she has played hockey at a professional level. She was the perfect candidate to run with my mom, but there was one big snag – everybody thought that she did not like running. Well, she soon showed us. When she heard that my mom was in the market for a running buddy, she was the first to volunteer. After signing up to the tremendous task of running a 12-hour circuit race, everything was set. The thing that really sealed the deal was when the two of them received their running club shirts, which they would run in on the day. Then, all that needed to happen was for the day to actually arrive.

The date grew closer, and as it did, both mom and Vossie grew stronger. As the time passed, the event grew into something much bigger: a commemoration of everybody around us that was currently fighting cancer, as well as those who had won or lost the battle. When we looked at our friends and family, it was shocking to realise how many people amongst us had suffered from this horrible sickness. Going into the race, I think mom ran harder than I’ve ever seen her do before, because she knew she was running for a purpose. They would run because so many others couldn’t.

The day before, we went to Gerrit Maritz High School in Pretoria North, where the race was set to be, to register and set up the gazebo along the side of the course. The circuit was 1km long, so with each lap passed, the person who was currently running would pass the tent (this was my forte – support team deluxe!). The team who had pitched their tents next to ours were quite a sight to see. They were extremely serious about their running, apparent from the time that they introduced themselves. They were the type who went to see the race organiser about where they needed to hand over their time chip, and then nod their heads gravely whilst he talked, afterwards chattering amongst themselves, “Okay, so your lap is going to be a little bit shorter than mine, because I need to hand the chip over to you before we get to the timing mat…” I soon dubbed them ‘the Comrades Tannies’. After everything was set up and both the girls had gotten their numbers for the next day, we all went home, to prep for the long day ahead. Everyone was getting an early start, and we needed to be at the venue, which was half an hour away, at 4am.

I had blinked, and the big day had arrived. This was it – all the prep and the hard hours of training culminated in this race day, the ultimate test of endurance and will. Mom and Vossie both looked so nervous, and every now and again Vossie would remark how she wasn’t prepared enough for this. (Everybody knew that she was, though. I had all the faith in the world!). This would be Vossie’s debut in the world of endurance running, and it was sure to be a spectacular event. I boiled the kettle for some hot coffee before they needed to go to the race briefing, and at 6 o’clock sharp, the whistle blew, and they were off. Vossie was the one who began, and she circled around the track five times before handing over to my mom. Afterwards, this changed to three times, because it was so cold that the person who would wait for their turn would be an icicle by the time that they needed to run again, and stiff muscles was not something you wanted to deal with when you were doing a marathon distance event.

At 9:30, the man of the hour arrived. My Uncle Leon called me from the car park to tell me he was here, and I went to go and fetch him and the mountain of boerewors that he had brought with him. The mood at the race was electrifying, and it was so inspirational to see everybody going past. All shapes, sizes, ages and genders took part in the race, and it was plain to see that everybody was having a good time. Music was blaring from a set of speakers placed in the middle of the field, and there were smiles all around.

It is incredible how sport can unify people. I’ve always loved going to running events, because the sense of community is so overwhelming. It doesn’t matter if you’ve never met anybody there before, or if you have absolutely nothing else in common, because everybody there owns a pair of running shoes. Everybody loves the rush that they get when they’re on the road. In the end, my mom and Vossie completed a distance of 92km. I’m going to give that a moment to sink in... 92km means that they both ran further than a typical marathon of 42,2km, in one day. Not only that, but it was the first time Vossie ran further than 13km. At the Dawn-2-Dusk race, when you complete your 80th lap, they give you a red flag to carry as a symbol of victory. Everybody cheers you on from the sidelines and runners congratulate you as they come past. My heart swelled with pride when I saw my mom and Vossie coming down the straight with their red flag. They had done it, with nearly three hours to spare. Standing with my uncle’s arm around me, watching the two incredible people who had embarked on this adventure together finally achieve their goal was incomparable to any other race that I had been present at before. These two people were my heroes, and it was a privilege to have been part of the journey, even though I did not run a single step that day.

I learnt a very important lesson from my mom, Vossie and my uncle last Saturday. I think in the back of my mind, I have always known it, but it was like a light had been switched in in my mind. The lesson is that, to get through the most difficult journeys in life, you need only take one step at a time, but keep on stepping, you must.

My uncle is the bravest person I have ever met, and every day, I thank God that he has been such a big part of my life. He is a fighter with a heart of gold, and I hope that when he reads this, he smiles.

Vossie was still beaming at the end of the race, and I dare say that I’ll be supporting her at many more races in the near future. Seeing her perseverance throughout the day was incredible, and I hope that she knows the impact she’s made on me.

And as for my mom… she will always have my utmost respect. Given, she did take the next day off, but on the Monday, she knocked on my bedroom door. “Do you want to go to the gym?” She was already dressed. I grinned a wicked grin, because I just had a feeling that we would do it all again next year, and I couldn’t wait.