“It’s like running an ultra-marathon” – the 5-year update

While on a run yesterday along the Amstel (extra happily as I’m over a hip injury), I thought about how I would pen a blog post about the day’s big milestone – five years in Amsterdam. Yesterday, half a decade ago, we touched down on Dutch soil, excited for an adventure and yet still a bit fragile. We were all still in a pandemic and there was so much uncertainty before we left Johannesburg. We didn’t know exactly when we would go or how we would go as airlines were on lockdown. We didn’t even get to have a masked, socially distanced farewell with most of our family and friends, which made for an even weirder departure from a quiet OR Tambo airport (our repatriation flight was the only one leaving that night).

And as I ran, I realised that this five-year journey can be compared to running an ultra-marathon with all its preparation, uphills, downhills, fuelling, lessons, pain and elation. While always remembering your “why”. And what a run it’s been.

Here’s how I break down the journey:

Planning: In running, this means choosing your race, and putting in hours of training to finish, whether or not you have a time goal. For emigration, it meant choosing our new home, and then “training” or prepping to make it a success. This involved admin, selling, research, more admin, finding an apartment, signing the kids up to school, looking for a job and trying to get to that “start line” as healthily and prepared as possible.

The start line: No matter how well you’ve prepared, there’s still so much uncertainty, and the knowledge that there will be painful parts, and that you’ll need to tap into something deep and strong inside you to see it to the end. You know it won’t all be plain sailing, but you also know that if you’re positive, patient and watch your step, you’re in a better place for success.

The first few kilometres, or months, in emigration terms: I always find these among the hardest – you’re excited, but still getting a feel for your environment, easing in and trying not to get too overwhelmed by all that lies ahead of you and all you need to do to get to that finish. On the plus side though, you’re enjoying the sights and offerings, and sometimes experiencing those things for the first time.

The ups: Sometimes you have to look harder for them when you’re hurting, but the journey can be full of them. In race terms, it’s when you’re feeling strong, getting support, on track for your target time, or even enjoying a good refreshment point (I still fondly remember some gin and tonic I drank a few kilometres before the finish of Two Oeeans, and the frozen orange segment sprinkled with salt a spectator handed me). Here, those ups are everywhere – sunrises on solo winter runs, solid friendships, buying a home, conversing in Dutch, getting a great job, seeing your kids thrive, riding a bike, driving to other countries, going to Christmas markets, and eating fries and fresh stroopwafels. And so much more.

The downs: Inevitable moments. Pain, doubt, fatigue, discomfort, fear.

The people you meet on the way: You have the cheerleaders helping you along, and sometimes the table is turned and you feel strong and experienced enough to help others. In running, it could be motivating someone and telling them they’re finish, and on this journey, you’re giving someone tips on the emigration process,  helping someone integrate or showing a new parent around the school as part of your class mom responsibilities.

Sometimes there are irritating people on route. Ones who get in your way, and don’t help you to get to the finish line. And that’s okay. There’s a lesson there, or you simply run with someone else.

The finish line: Yay! It feels so good to cross the line. Even though you chose to run, it still feels like you achieved something cool and hard, and had the strength and willingness to see it through. You crossed it, you’re changed, and after the journey (or milestone), you’re all the better for it.