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Running at someone else's pace: lessons from (watching) Comrades 2026

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The house was completely still when the alarm went off. Just hours earlier, the living room had been alive with the tension of the World Cup matches, keeping the kids and me awake far past our bedtimes. So when Comrades morning arrived, I chose to stay in bed, leaving my husband to creep into the quiet kitchen alone. In the Lotz family, Comrades is practically a tradition. Whether we actually have runners out on the road testing their limits or we are just watching from home, the day is always marked on our calendars. And there is a lonely, beautiful sort of dedication to watching the start of the ultimate human race at an early Sunday morning. Sitting in the dark, coffee mug in hand, waiting for the beautiful sound of Shosholoza to echo through the quiet house. By the time the rest of us gathered around the screen, the magic had already taken over. It happens every year. You think you’ll just glance at the screen while making breakfast, and suddenly you are completely hooked. We watc...
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Finding our worth in rankings

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Another day, another link. Another article promising a new way to measure scientific impact, influence, visibility, performance. Another system, another metric, another list. And there I was—doing what so many of us do before we even admit it to ourselves. Scrolling quickly, searching for my own name. Then I found it. Top five in South Africa . And yes, I smiled. Of course I did. I felt that small rush of validation, the quiet satisfaction of being seen, measured, acknowledged. For a moment, it felt good. Maybe even deserved. And then, almost as quickly, I spiraled and sank again. Who was above me? Why not higher? How was this calculated? Who was missing? What about the other list from last month? How long before this changes? It is amazing how quickly pride can turn into comparison, and comparison into emptiness. That made me think, how much of our lives is shaped by rankings? Countries compare GDP growth, inflation, competitiveness, and happiness indexes. Universities compete in glob...
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Choosing "my busy"...

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The other day, a student asked me, quite directly: “How busy are you?” I smiled. Because the honest answer is simple: I am always busy. There is always something. Emails waiting. Deadlines approaching. Meetings scheduled. People to respond to. Ideas to develop. A never-ending list that seems to regenerate faster than I can cross things off. Busy has become a constant state. Almost an identity. And I started wondering—when did that happen? When did “busy” become the default answer to “How are you?” When did it become something we say with a mix of pride and exhaustion, as if it justifies our existence? But more importantly, how much of this busy is actually mine ? Because if I’m honest, not all busy is created equal. There is busy that energises me, that feels aligned, that gives me a sense of purpose. And then there is busy that drains, that fills space without meaning, that I say yes to without thinking. The dangerous part is that from the outside, it all looks the same. Just… b...
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Word for 2026: Presence...

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At the beginning of every year, I choose a word. Not a resolution with deadlines or targets, but a quiet guide to accompany me—something to return to when life becomes noisy or unclear. Last year, my word was choice . I didn’t know then how central that idea would become. I found myself navigating a series of decisions, big and small, that shaped my days and defined my energy. I had to choose what to say yes to, what to say no to, where to invest, and where to let go. I realised how often we are offered the illusion of control, while in reality we are simply choosing how we respond to what life puts in front of us. But what last year taught me most deeply is that not every choice is ours to make. Some things are taken from us without warning or permission. This past year, I experienced loss—real, irreversible loss—and it shifted something in me. It reminded me, more than any theoretical understanding ever could, that time is not guaranteed, that presence is not something we can postpon...
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Location: Pretoria, South Africa
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Memories of Leentjie: A Love Grown Over Time

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Some people don’t enter your life all at once. They arrive slowly — through habits, through presence, through the ordinary days that quietly shape who you become. Leentjie came into my life as my mother-in-law, but she became much more than that. She became part of my learning — how to mother, how to hold space, how to love without needing softness all the time. She was not someone who announced herself. She showed who she was through consistency, through showing up, through hands that knew what to do. These memories are not written in order, because that is not how love lives. They come as moments, details, gestures — a way of holding a baby, a cake baked without being asked, a sentence said at exactly the right time. Together, they tell the story of how we learned each other, how trust was built, and how love grew — slowly, firmly, and deeply. This is not a tribute meant to idealise her. It is a remembering of her as she was — strong, practical, opinionated, fair, and deeply loving. ...
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The Empty Chairs of Christmas

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Christmas has a way of filling the air with sound—wrapping paper tearing, cutlery clinking, and familiar songs playing softly in the background. The table grows crowded with food and stories, little jokes that only make sense to us, and the joyful chaos of being together. And yet, amid all that fullness, I always notice the empty chairs. Some are momentary—empty not because of absence, but distance. When we are in South Africa, I miss the voices of Greece. When we are in Greece, my heart aches for the rhythm of our life back home. My family has always lived stretched across two continents, two time zones, and two homes. And every festive season, no matter where we are, someone is missing. Technology helps. It pulls us closer. We send photos, call across dinner tables, and share a laugh through screens. It’s something—and I’m thankful for it—but not everything. It doesn’t fill the seat. It doesn’t carry the smell of the food, the warmth of the hug, or the overlapping chatter of a shar...
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For Me: On Opinions, Influence, and Leadership

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  The other day, my son came home visibly unsettled. During a conversation at school, a classmate—confident, influential, and a natural leader—dismissed cricket outright. "Cricket is a bullshit game. It’s not even a sport. Who wants to play cricket?" And just like that, the atmosphere shifted. The classmate’s words didn’t land softly as one boy’s preference—they hit like a verdict. My son, who happens to love cricket, suddenly felt that something he enjoyed was being mocked and invalidated. Not just by one person, but by the silence and subtle agreement of others around him. It stung. That moment has been sitting with me. And what it revealed is something deeply simple but often overlooked: the power of the words “for me.” "I don’t like cricket—it’s boring for me." "Dancing isn’t my thing." "Academia is not the right space for me." When we add “for me,” we open the window to plurality. We signal that this is my truth, not the truth. I have a p...
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