It was just over eight hours into the race, some way in the approach to Cowie's Hill, that my right leg started packing up.
It was around the time that the inimitable Bruce Fordyce was commanding his fellow travelers to start running again because he realised they were on television.
At first I thought it was just cramp in my thigh, but the pain intensified in the ligaments at the back. As I write, there is still a nagging, gnawing sensation.
It might have been caused by my sudden acceleration in exiting the armchair for a quick ablution break.
Then again, it could have been from not wanting to miss any further footage of Fordyce and company that I ran down the stairs too quickly from the bathroom.
This is never an easy run; it is, after all, the greatest footrace in the world. The important thing is to maintain an easy rhythm and a comfortable posture.
For the previous eight hours I had taken it nice and easy, occasionally leaning forward with purpose to reach for my coffee mug and a biscuit. Hydration and nutrition are very important to keep properly fueled for a real test of endurance.
The other thing is to keep your mind nicely focused and ask yourself important questions.
Like, for example, are Russians to road running what Australians are to all other sports. Do they always shout the odds and expect to dominate everything they enter?
I don't know but I felt really chuffed to see Stephen Muzhingi breaking the mould in the men's race. I believe residents of Durban North will claim him as one of their own but he still flies the flag of Zimbabwe, although maybe we are getting closer to a South African victory again.
In the women's race, it was another Russian party with the first four places and the stand-up comedy being provided by one of the twins - sorry, it's difficult to tell the difference - acting as translator for a compatriot.
It was then, of course, good to see the South African girls coming in and the positive jig from the delightful Lesley Train. Next time let's hope she takes an even faster express.
All the above belonged to the actual race - what followed in the best Comrades' traditions was the hard yards of all those trying to make the final cut.
My leg was hurting, but I was waving my arms like mad.
Well done, you crazy lot.