Returning to South Africa in 2027!

I’ve noticed that some places don’t just stay in your memory; they pull at you, quietly asking you to return.

That is how South Africa feels to me.

When I left Cape Town in May of 2025, I knew I would go back, but I didn’t know exactly how or when. Recently, the “when” became beautifully clear: I am heading back in 2027 to run the Cape Town Marathon.

With the race working toward becoming the eighth World Marathon Major, the opportunity to run 26.2 miles through a landscape that stole my heart feels like a circle waiting to be closed.

Finding a rhythm in new spaces

On my first morning in Cape Town during my last trip, I started the day on a hotel treadmill, looking through a large glass window.

Right in front of me, framed perfectly, was the dramatic silhouette of Table Mountain.

I was only running three easy miles that morning, but I remember feeling a distinct shift. It felt like I was running directly into the heart of the city, finally finding my stride in a place that had lived in my imagination for so long.

There is something incredibly grounding about moving your body in a fresh landscape — it bridges the gap between being a visitor and truly feeling connected to the ground beneath your feet.

Vibrant energy and quiet corners

During that trip, I spent quiet evenings walking around the V&A Waterfront.

I remember thinking how beautifully the city balanced different energies — one corner felt like the cozy, maritime warmth of Halifax, while another had the sleek, glass-and-steel possibility of London.

It is a place that is both vibrant and remarkably calm.

To run through these streets, past the coastlines and under the shadow of ancient cliffs, feels less like a grueling athletic challenge and more like a long, scenic conversation with the earth.

What the wild teaches us about pacing

After Cape Town, my mom and I traveled to Sabi Sabi for a safari, and the lessons I learned there have quietly reshaped how I think about marathon training.

I remember a walking safari with our guide, Ronnie, who showed me a tiny seed pod lying dormant in the dry soil. When he put a little moisture on it, the tail of the seed began to twist, slowly drilling itself into the ground to plant itself.

It was a beautiful, quiet reminder that growth doesn’t happen by rushing. It happens through patience, timing, and adapting to the environment.

Training for a marathon requires that same quiet trust — knowing when to push, when to rest, and when to let the work settle into your bones.

Welcoming the detours

Perhaps the greatest lesson South Africa gave me was about control, or rather, the lack of it.

On our way home, our flights were canceled, leaving us stranded and scrambling to track plane tail numbers on flight apps while reorganizing our routes from a hotel lobby.

In the past, that kind of disruption would have sent my anxiety soaring. But sitting there, accepting the delay and watching the sky, I realized that the best parts of travel — and life — often happen when the script falls apart.

When you line up for a marathon, you can plan your pacing, your nutrition, and your gear down to the second. But the weather might turn, your body might ask for a different pace, or the day might simply unfold differently than you imagined.

Learning to breathe through the disruption, to pivot with grace, is the real discipline.

2027 feels far away, yet the preparation is already beginning in small, daily choices.

I am returning not to chase a specific clock or to prove anything, but to experience a place that taught me how to slow down, look around, and savor the journey.

Have you ever had a place change the way you move through the world? I’d love to hear about the spaces that keep calling you back.