November 25, 2008
It now five months since this happened. I am now able to talk about it:
Sunday, June 8, 2008: Woke up at 6.30am and hit the road. My jogging profile for the day would be a 40km route (give or take a km). I intended to do this in 3hr 30min. It is worth noting that most jogging routes around Nairobi (and generally in Kenya), have hills and slopes every km or so, hardly do you get a flat stretch of more than 200m. The route would take me from my residence via Naivasha road to Uthiru, then on Kapenguria road to ‘tarmac’, uphill to Wangige junction, back to ‘tarmac’ and onwards to Westlands, then a return trip to tarmac and back home.
I was in much better pace compared to previous runs. The morning weather was perfect for a run with hardly any sun nor was it cold – just perfect. From my residence, I hit ‘tarmac I’ in 0:35:00. I was even faster on the hilly stretch to Wangige junction which I did in 20min and back to ‘tarmac II’ on the downhill in only 17min. I conquered the 8.5km to Westlands in 43min and the return jog in 46min to hit ‘tarmac III’.
Then something just happened, when I made the turn at the tarmac junction to finalize the last 7km course I just stopped suddenly and involuntarily. I was surprised that ‘the body’ could actually stop itself without my consent! I tried to restart the run but my legs could not do a run. This was strange! It was the first time that my body had refused to obey me! Yet I still had the 7km to cover! The morning was not very hot, though the 9.30am sun was already escorting the church-goers to their destinations.
Accepting my fate, I decided to take a walk. The walk would really make me tired since I estimated that it would take me about 1hr 15min to reach home – but did I have a choice? I kept walking. While walking all was okay. I was not that tired and was able to figure out how I would spend my hour of walk. I headed to the river quite okay, even noticed the water streams that flow on both sides of the road just after ‘the tank’. After the tank, you are faced with an uphill stretch of about 2km to Ndumboini, then another 1km over the flyover to Uthiru.
Then another thing happened, I started loosing my focus and started seeing the road blurring – though I could see the brown dirt that makes the road still coloured before me. Somewhere mid-hill I remember veering to the side of the road and stepping into the left roadside bushy storm drain. I held onto the thickets, some piercing my hands, as I used them to support my now weak legs that were virtually collapsing. I took a short rest while standing holding onto the thickets. I gathered courage and stepped back to the road side off the thickets and continued walking. I did not maintain a straight path from there on. I wobbled to the right side of the road and landed on the thickets of that side where I fell and stayed down briefly. I remember how weak I felt even as I now started to loose my vision. The greenery colouring my side of the road started fading away. I got up again and more determined than before, I continued my walk towards Ndumboini. That is all that I remember.
How I walked the 1km to where I was, will remain one of those mysteries that may never be resolved. The feeling I had as I wobbled from one side of the road to the other is something worth patenting! You should never wish this on your worst enemy!!
I must have been laying in the roadside storm drain for about 10min, based on my time calculation between when I started walking and when I regained my vision. The first time I opened my eyes I saw some things passing by me. Some of the ‘things’ stopped nearby, then left. After closing and opening my eyes severally, I started recognizing the ‘things’ take shape in the form of people, who kept passing by. Occasionally, one or two people would stop by briefly and ask me if I was okay. I remember answering them that I was okay but just tired. I remained lying down partly inside the drain. I could also hear others confessing of ‘a drunk man on a Sunday morning who needs salvation from eternal damnation if he continues his drunken ways’, but I did not care – I was tired and needed a rest.
Finally, a duo of gentlemen approached my lying position and asked if I was okay. I responded with the now farmiliar, “Am okay, but tired from a long run”. They did not seem to believe me, since they did not go away. They resolved to get me out of my position to the opposite side of the road. I remember them saying that I was lying dangerously close to the road and I would rather rest on the other shady side of the road. “Okay”, I remember saying, as they lifted me each one holding my arms and helped me walk across the road. When they put me down I just went back to my lying position. By this time I was fully aware of my surroundings but too tired to get up.
“WWB, what are you doing here!”, Musa asked. That was quite a familiar voice. Musa was one of my colleagues whom we jogged with many a lunch time and evenings.
“Am just tired after a long run that has taken me 35km so far. Am just resting then shall walk home”, I answered.
He did not seem to believe that I would be walking home any time soon, so he just told me to keep resting.
Five minutes later he was helping me into a private vehicle that took me the 1km distance to the organization’s gate. The security officer took one look at me and summoned car hire services to take me to hospital. By that time I was fully recovered and assured the security officer that the vehicle would rather take me home, just 2km down Naivasha road. “Okay, go home but rather have the doctor confirm that you are fine”.
When I reached the house, I mixed one litre of orange juice and drained it down from the jug! I was totally fine and was just heading outside to tell the taxi driver to hit it, when Mrs. WWB said that I had better just speak to the doctor about what had happened. So, with hardly a change of clothes, we left by taxi to the hospital. By that time I was fine, energetic and jovial. In fact when the doctor saw me he doubted whether I was associated with the story he had just heard. Nonetheless he wrote ‘hypoglycemia’ on my medical record and send me to the lab for a blood test. This was at about noon, with the test results expected in 2 hours. Feeling good and on top of the world, we even left for lunch and were happy to be preparing to go home after we meet the doctor at 2pm, just for the formalities.
“Am admitting you”, the doctor said, thwarting all plans for the week ahead. How can I end up in an hospital bed just for jogging before breakfast and without water?
Do you need to hear the rest of the story, about the tests, the results and how it was to affect the Marathon 2008 results? Vote and look out.
