One number, two generations. “If you run well but are unable to pass the baton to another runner, you lose the race.” JC Maxwell

“Dad, I want to run Comrades. Will you train me?”
For the uninitiated, Comrades is not “just a marathon.” Preparation becomes a way of life. But this was more than a training request. It was a daughter asking her father from the deep seat of trust, respect, and love.

So we began. Gently at first; then in earnest as June drew closer. She trusted my judgement; I knew when to push and when to pull back. I’d gone before—she knew I understood the road. Watching her wrestle fatigue and pain, my respect grew. One evening I asked, hesitant: “I have a question… you don’t have to say yes.”
“What is it, Dad?”
“If I can swing it, will you run in my number?”

“Jeez, Dad—I’d be honoured.”

We approached the organisers. Protocols were followed. And then the small miracle: 7927 came back to us. The first time that number crossed the line in Durban was pinned to my vest over thirty years earlier. That day changed me. It gave me a long view of life I’ve never lost.

On a winter’s day in June, in Moses Mabhida Stadium, I understood what legacy really means. A small number, a big heart. My daughter did her father proud. 7927 is in good hands.

“To Live, To Love, To Learn, To Leave a Legacy.”
—Stephen R. Covey

What this taught me about legacy

• Legacy is relational, not grandiose. Most of us won’t leave empires. We leave people—formed, encouraged, believed in.
• Passing the torch matters. Skills, stories, even race numbers carry meaning when handed over with intent.
• Authority earns trust. Having “gone before” isn’t bragging; it’s stewardship. Experience guides, it doesn’t dominate.
• Ritual seals memory. A number at a finish, a hug on the grass—small rituals make values stick for a lifetime.

Who handed you a number? Who passed you a torch you’ll never drop?