Running on red

Running on red

Bahasha

It was a coincidence that I was on a sojourn on my tenth anniversary of work.  I was still on cloud nine due to the certificate that I had received from the ‘topest’, sorry, top-most boss and a rare photo op to crown the moment.  I am not allowed to divulge the details of the ‘bahasha’ nor that this event occurred during the end year staff party, when drinks are served using vouchers, numbers from drink 1 to drink N.  I have observed ‘the N’ increasing by 1 annually in  the last four years, and it was 2 then.  

Then the teetotalers have the 'good habit' of handing over their drink vouchers, hence the trick is just to sit on the same table with them.  That is a story for another day, however.  

Though I was on official business, having a glimpse at the rock-curved churches at Lalibela or even celebrating Christmas on January 18 was something that I would have wished to experience.  This did not happen but I was invited for a different experience two days after my arrival...

“We go for lunch at six-thirty,” Rehma said, just to remind me of my time schedule as I excused myself to move around and greet folks.

I completely understood her.  Amharic is like Kiswahili.  The number system that is.  With it as the national language, the users tend to first think about issues in Amharic, then translate to English.  Lunch at six-thirty was lunch at ‘saa sita-na-nusu’ in Kiswahili.  Just the right time for lunch – 30 minutes after ‘sita’, six.

Driver

I jumped on to my seat, and… and was surprised that it was the driver’s seat!.  The apparent left-side front door was actually the driver’s position!.  In Kenya our drivers sit on the right of the vehicle, hence my subconscious entry to the left side of the car.  I got out, the joke on me, and walked round the vehicle to take my seat at the front right - where I properly belonged, before the driver of the left-hand-drive got in and took off.

My mind kept playing tricks on me throughout the drive, and was quite fearful whenever we were approaching oncoming traffic.  My Kenyan mindset on a keep-left driving system was so confused when keeping-right.  I severally covered my face in fear, thinking that we are continuously overtaking and the oncoming vehicle shall be crashing us head on!

We left the employer premises and joined the main A2 road at Gurd Shola by turning right.  The oncoming traffic was on my left, on the side of the driver.  A roadside sign confirmed that ‘Ayat 5km ahead’ was our general direction.

“I hope to take a ride on that,” I pointed to the railway in between the two roads.

“Oh, that, the electric train?”

“Yes, the train”

“I have not been in it myself,” Ayele the driver confirmed, paused, then,“Rehma, have you?,” he asked, looking slightly back to draw her attention on the back seat.

“No.  Not me.  It usually is full.  Can’t get space.”

Train

Momentarily, a sound of machinery became apparent, and soon there was a train slithering slowly on my left, going towards where we had come from.  It was observably full, but only two coaches were being pulled along.

“Why do they have only two coaches, when there are so many people?,” I queried.

“This government,” Ayele started.  I noted over time that he had issues with the government, “Just wasting public funds.  They say the structure not possible to pull more than two trains.”

“I really must use the train,” I said with conviction, “Tomorrow,” I added as an afterthought.

“Just be early,” Rehma volunteered, “And be ready to stand all the way.”

“But, mothers and small children can sit,” Ayele updated, “And you have none of the two for now,” he brought home the joke.

All this chatter allowed us to make our way to a restaurant, famous for mouth-watering cuisines and ….

Our entourage had arrived in four vehicles, each carrying around three.  We ended up having a lunch troop of ten.  We sat on two rows facing each other over three tables, five on either side.  The menu was brought and it was all gibberish to me, Amhara to them.  

“Just delicious.  Perfect,” the group kept commenting as they looked through the menu.

“I can’t decipher anything,” I complained.

“Just wait,” they reassured me.

“Yes,” Adele led the ordering, “Raw meat? Yes? Yes, you shall try some raw meat?,” he looked in my direction.

“I don’t think so,” was my protest, “But let me see.”

The known

Let me start with the part that I know.  Some small cooking stove, made of clay ‘was served’ to my table of four.  On it steamed some meat.  It was partially cooked by my standards.  It looked red – it seemed to taste raw.  I did not try it.  While my table mates started grabbing onto the top plate-like part of the stove, the rest of the people on the other tables stayed put, patient and unmoved.  I was also unmoved.  We all allowed the first three to have a go.

A second stove was served.  This also had some more meat, but well done by my standards.  I started on this, even as small dishes of chilly was served as supplements.  They called it ‘sauce’.  Different ‘sauces’ were therefore served.  Then some veggies, which I took a taste and gave up on.  It tasted bad and seemed full of cheese – just my judgement – since all on the table enjoyed every bit of it.  

Some ‘injera’ was brought.  Think of a rolled ‘raw chapati’ but throw in some sourness that seems to come from fermentation, and you can try to guess the taste.  I did not like it despite several attempts at it.  Three travels later and I am yet to adapt?.  I give up.

However, the well-done meat was quite good and ‘well done’.  The hot stove with charcoal underneath and small enough in size to fit on a table and still afford us a serving plate on top was quite genius.  You eat steaming-hot meat (roast? with indirect heat?) until the stove has nothing on top, upon which the charcoal burner is removed and a new one brought, full of meat pieces.  Pure genius this hot plate!!

The unknown

Let me now go the part that I do not know.  The other two tables finally got some action, when red raw meat, straight from a butcher-man’s stock, was served.  I could guess that 2 kilos of this raw unprocessed meat was served onto a middle metallic tray.  (I am in the livestock sector and I know weight by sight).  

Each diner was provided with a small plate and a sharp knife.  Besides the meat tray, a secondary tray for injera and sauces was provided.  And let the eating begin!  Just like that!!  They laughed at my facials as I observed them butcher the meat chunks into small pieces, which they proceeded to dip into the sauce and then shove straight to the mouth!  Injera balls accompanied each piece onto the mouth.

“I only take raw meat,” one participant at one of these two tables declared, “I have taken it since I was small and there is nothing in the world like raw meat. Nothing,” he repeated in deep nostalgia and reflection.  The facial expression was perfect confirmation.

Adele pointed a red piece in my direction, “Try this small piece,” the rest paused and watched in apprehension.  Baptism about to take place.

“No way,” I lifted both hands as shield.  I was finally convinced, “Let me stick to roast.”
The tension in the table broke, as the rest exhaled and sighed in relief.  The baptism having flopped.

On his part, Adele just shook his head and threw the piece, after dipping in sauce, into his mouth.  I could see him savoring the deliciousness.  It was evident on him. 

It was only natural that at this point of ‘sticking to roast’ that the discussion of the famous ‘Fogo Gaucho’ Nairobi would feature… but they did not have any kind words for their local FG franchise that they claimed is housed in a five-star hotel, charging five-star prices and… serving five-types of meat… beef, beef, beef, beef and… beef, and in small chunks, they drove the point home.

We finally left the lunch joint and headed back to the work place.

The next day Adele took me for an evening ride on his car, to take his child home and also show me the sites.

On our way back, I finally found out a way to achieve what I wanted, as already planned for the next day.

“Can I borrow your child tomorrow for the train ride?”

WWB The Marathoner, Nairobi Kenya, December 21, 2017

When 42 is 44 – The Story of Nairobi Marathon 2017

When 42 is 44 – The Story of Nairobi Marathon 2017

It is done

I knew that I shall finish the run ‘comfortably’ when I hit the 36km mark.  This is the same point where I was pulled out last year for ‘over speeding’ and had to be given two shots of saline to tame my speed, otherwise, “I was headed for a collapse,” as the first aiders said then.  I was wiser this year and I took the two shots voluntarily, when I asked the ambulance crew to just give me the two bottles.  I downed one in one gulp, took a deep breath, then started sipping the next, as I walked off and setoff of the last 6km of the run.

“Are you OK?, Do you want to take a rest?,” the madam first aider had asked.

“I am good to go,” I responded.  

Truthfully, I probably responded to my retreating steps, since I was already accelerating to my new finishing phase pace of about 6minutes per kilometers, down from my 5minutes per kilometer in the last major part of the run.  This was the toughest 6km route ever!.  It runs from the extreme turnoff on Mombasa road near City Cabanas, all the way to city centre.  Add to it a changed route that by-passes the usual Nyayo stadium finish point by about 2km and you have a tough finish ahead.  By this time you are tired, you are finished, the legs are aching, the eyes are strained, you cannot look straight, the light is affecting you, the heat is hitting you, the tarmac is pounding underneath your soles and… you are on your own!

But how did this final run come about?

Early riser

I woke up at 4.00am and took breakfast.  I already knew the routine, having run 4 other such long runs in the last 9 years – you start early.  I was celebrating my tenth international marathon run with the 5th and final 42k.  This was my retirement long run.  I had to make it count.  The routine is usually an early breakfast, a short reflection on the day ahead, then an early morning quest for transport to town.  I had already planned to be at the Nakuru-Nairobi highway by 5.30am, to enable me be at the starting line by 6.30am, ready for the 7.00am run.  

A last minute ‘pleasant surprise’ by the employer enabled us secure hired transport to carry team members to the venue.  This did not change the 5.30am time, it just changed the pickup point from the highway to the employer compound gate.  I was however glad that I would avoid the otherwise hustle, uncertainty and effects of road closure while on public transport.  

The hired bus was to be at the gate, ready for us, from 5.15am.  I saw the promise by the transport company to ensure that this happens.  My confidence with the transport arrangement was at its all-time high.  Little did I know that by 6.20am the bus promised for 5.15am would still be unavailable.  Talk about failing to have plan B when ideally all situations need a plan B?

Late transport

“Where are you?,” I asked the number provided by our transport coordinator.  This was meant to the be number of the driver.

“I am at Globe Cinema,” pause then, “The roads are closed!”

That was 6.10am.

Globe Cinema is at the city centre for crying out loud!

The day could never get worse than this.  How was I going to make it to town, with roads closed, for the 7.00am run!

“Conspiracy!!,” I shouted out of frustration.

“What?,” Joan, a fellow runner, now also at the gate asked.

“Nothing,” I responded, realizing that my frustration was getting the better of me.

“Marathoners,” I addressed the eight or so runners, already gathered at the gate waiting for the transport, “We shall not make it for this run.  I shall not make it for this run.”

U-what?

The bulb lit inside my head and I quickly extracted my phone to ‘Uber’ a taxi.  The response was fairly fast.  I got a confirmation in 1 minute that there shall be a taxi available for me in 5 minutes, I calculated that to mean 6.15am.  As I was starting to relax, the phone buzzed, and I saw a cancellation message from Uber.

“That is just great!,” I shouted in frustration once more as I applied for another taxi on the same platform.  This one also confirmed to pick me up in 8 minutes – that would mean 6.20am.  Well, it better be here as promised, since 40 minutes to the run is not time to be joking with a runner.

Believe it or not, the phone buzzed again about 2-minutes later with a cancellation from Uber.  I was angry.

“You accepted to pick me,” I started on the number provided, “Where are you?,” I asked this second taxi person.  Oblivious of the cancellation message.

“I am far, at Kikuyu, I cannot make it,” pause, then, “I have sent a cancellation message.”

“Why did you accept then?,” I was losing my cool, which is rare, but this situation was stretching me to the limit and called for some cool-losing moment.  

I did not even wait for an answer, “Please cancel the trip officially on Uber.  I do not want to incur charges for cancelling.”

“Just cancel,” he responded, “You shall not be charged at all.”

“Are you sure,” I reconfirmed, “Last time I did a cancellation I was surely still charged.”

“You shall not be charged, that I can tell you.  Just cancel from your side,” he insisted.

I went ahead and cancelled and my finger was not even out of the touch screen when the message came back almost immediately, “Sorry for the cancellation.  You have been charged 200 for the driver’s time”

I almost flung the phone on the wall.

 “This is just great!,” I shouted again, “Being charged for the mistake of someone else!!”

Can’t make it

The time was now 6.20am.  40 minutes to start of my run at city centre.  I was still stuck in Uthiru.  No Uber, no taxi, no bus, with a bill of 200 for no service.

“This is just great!,” I said loudly, mainly subconsciously.

At that very time a private taxi was just exiting the compound, having dropped someone inside.  I hailed it and asked out of curiosity weather there was any possibility of it taking me to town, which he agreed.  However, since I was sure that I shall be using a chartered bus, I did not even carry any cash with me!

“This is just great!!,” I said loudly, subconsciously, even as I quickly got MPESA from one of the run colleagues and jumped into the taxi.

“Fire this thing and get me to town in the shortest time possible,” that was my instruction to the taxi-man, with all hopes lost of ever making it to the run in time.  

The time was now 6.25am, with my run starting at 7.00am ‘on the dot’.  ‘On the dot’ is no joke, since I have known over the last nine events that this run starts on time – regardless of what happens.  This is a run that can even be started before the runners arrive, even without the runners!  They are that serious about time.

My heart was pounding all through the route from Uthiru, to Kangemi, to ABC, to Westlands – where the road was closed!  

Now what?

“I am just from the airport,” the driver volunteered as we hit the “Road closed” sign.

“We shall go through Westlands Road, behind Kempiski, to Museum hill.  That is the same route I had to follow to Uthiru this morning”

Shall make it

I was glad to jump out of the taxi at 6.50am at Museum hill, where there was another “Road closed” sign.  I was now faced with a 2km distance to be covered in 10-minutes and that is where my run started.  All the way past University of Nairobi, to Nyayo House, then through Uhuru Park to the starting point on Haile Sellasie avenue next to the Railway Club.

I had initially cursed the new route when I first saw it on the runners guide – starting at city centre instead of Nyayo stadium.  Now I was all praises of the new route, as I joined the group of runners JIT, just-in-time, for the 42km run countdown.  I jostled through the big crowd of mostly 10km and 21km runners, who had completely blocked the access to the starting line ahead, where the 42km runners were gearing up to go.

I did not even have a second to settle when the sound of the starting gun was heard and most runners pressed the start timer on their wrist watches.  I followed suit and started off behind the leading pack.

Relaxed

I was quite relaxed as I did this run.  I had already practiced in the last 2 months especially.  I had already experienced a 38k run in 3hr 45min.  I knew how it felt to run the distance and the time, and the strategies to put in place.  I have never been so relaxed in any of my previous runs like I was on this day.

The weather was just great.  It had earlier threatened to be a rainy run when the heavy rains come down from around 3.00am to 4.00am.  I took my breakfast when it was still raining, though the rains had subsided by the time I walked to take the bus at 5.30am.  The environment was however cold and some drizzles were still being experienced from Uthiru to town.  However, by run time there was no rain at all, though the weather remained cool and chilly.

I came to the run with two objectives – to run a relatively slower pace so that I do not burn out by the 36km and not to burn out at the 36km mark.  In other words, my run was geared towards conquering the 36k and so I did the 2017 run routine with the three-six as my main objective.

The new route started at the Haile Sellasie avenue at Railway club, just besides Uhuru park.  From there, it just followed the profile of the previous route by going to the stretch of the avenue to Railway station and back, then the tour of the city through Harambee avenue, Kenyatta avenue and University way, before heading to Parklands through Museum hill and back to Upper Hill, to exit at Nyayo stadium.  At Nyayo, the 21km runners would go back to city centre to finish off at the starting line, while the 42km runners would do 2 loops of Mombasa road from Nyayo stadium to City Cabanas and back, then finish off at city centre starting line.  

You hit the 20km mark at Nyayo stadium on Mombasa road, as you start on the first loop.  The second loop starts at the same place on the 30.5km mark.

Three-six

I did not notice much events on the route, since my mind was geared to the three-six.  I remember, vaguely, passing through a new route section within KICC grounds, and through a water spray section, a first one for this marathon.  A second such water spray runway was waiting for us at Uhuru Park at the 16km mark.  However, there were no such sprayers on the additional 20km route on Mombasa road over the 2 loops.

“Discrimination,” I shouted to myself after doing the first loop to the 30.5km and noting that the full loop had no such sprays.  However, there was bottled water available at all water points and this kind of compensated for the lack.

The second and final loop of the run is usually the most difficult.  Your head starts spinning and you even wonder whether you have done the loop once or twice.  I know of runners who do not even do a second loop – though this is basis of disqualification, and for sure not getting a finisher’s certificate.  Nonetheless, a medal is given to all such runners who present themselves at the finishing line.  You have to weigh the options of medal and cert or medal only (or even cert only, should you finish and fail/forget to pick a medal.  Of course there is still the option of no-medal-no-cert if you do not finish)

The solution

I was quite good in form while doing the second loop from the 30.5k to 35.5k extreme turning point.  After turning, I could see the ambulance 500m ahead, though it was not busy at least.  I could only see one athlete seated beside the ambulance and I thought I saw another one athlete stretched inside.  The first aid crew was handing over bottles to runners passing by.  That is where I made a deliberate stop to consume one full bottle of 300ml, then took off with a second.

The solution that they usually give us is something that I do not know.  It takes bad!  It is something I would not take on an ordinary day – but on the day of the marathon, you cannot argue with the health professionals – just do what they say.  Maybe they make it taste bad to prevent runners from taking it at all (or substantially)?  The stuff is neither sweet nor sour.  It is more of salty with some bad colour that is one of those shades of pink.  It is just a bad solution that keeps runners running.  It worked last year and I was confident that it would work this year round.  I took little sips of this remaining 300ml over the second loop all the way to Nyayo stadium on the 40.5km mark.  I now just had a 1.5km stretch, run past the stadium, over the railway running underneath Uhuru highway flyover and back to the stadium.

Nothing, repeat, nothing was now going to stand on my way to finishing this run.  My neck was tired and it was a great effort lifting my head of keeping a steady gaze.  My legs were tired.  Coincidentally, the left leg that had given me trouble over the last month, and where I had put lots of attention in terms of massage and medication, is what became the stable leg during the run.  Surprisingly, it is the right leg that was on top form all along that started aching on the 30.5km mark when I just started on the second loop on Mombasa road.  It was an ache that I could manage for the rest of the run, but it is the coincidence that gave me lessons learnt, that expect the unexpected, despite all good plans.  But since the morning I was learning the same lesson anyway.

No through way

With the 42km ending at the same place, on the same route as the 21km, and with the higher volume of runners on the 21km event, the finish lane that stretches from Nyayo to Haile Sellasie avenue finish line was full of runners, rather walkers.  Even running through was a problem.  This was the most difficult stretch of all.  You are tired, you want to finish off the run but your forward movement is now blocked and… there is nothing you can do about it.  You are so tired you cannot even speak!

There was lots of confusion at the finish line.  It was difficult to know where the respective finish points for the two categories of runs was.  The supposed finish line was full of athletes who had jammed and blocked the area as they took photos and selfies.  There was no signage to indicate the medal collection points for the various runs.  There was no one to restore any order.  It was virtually impossible to cross the finish line, which was completely blocked by stationary athletes.  It was chaotic!

I stopped my timer at 3.50.39 and somewhere got a medal in exchange for the torn-off lower part of the runner number 1301.  Though my timer indicated a distance of 41.10km, the marked route was actually 42.125km.  I did not care about the error of 1km on my timer.  I did not care whether the winner in the men’s run clocked 02.12.39 and 02.31.41 for the women’s event – taking home KShs.1.5M each.  I did not want to know that the 21km was won in 01.03.26 and 01.11.04 in the men and women categories respectively, each bagging 0.2M as prize money.  Nor did I flinch when I learnt that the 10km had been won in a lightning speed of 00.29.14 and 00.32.23 – a 0.11M windfall for each in the men and women runs.  I was just happy that I had finished the run while running on my two and was still as energetic as never before.

Now, finally, the real joy of the marathon – meeting with colleagues and confirming that all did finish their various runs.  It is a moment of happiness.  It is a moment of joy.  It is a moment of celebration.  There is no other feeling than this feeling.  Taking that final group photo.  Saying, “we did it!”.  I did not even remember that I was forced to run an extra 2km.  I did not care that 42 was 44.  I was just glad that another marathon is gone.  I am now retired from the 42km, but who knows…. There is no run like the 42.  Even if it is a 44.

Barack Wamkaya Wanjawa, Nairobi, Kenya, December 2, 2017