You are on your own – the Nairobi Marathon 2018 story

You are on your own – the Nairobi Marathon 2018 story

(updated 21-Nov-2018 with official results)

*Image extracted from marathon organizers site (nairobimarathon.com)

Weather

The weather was perfect for a run as we left the meeting point at 0600hrs on the double dot on this last Sunday of October.  The twenty-eighth.  About five marathoners were in the bus, with another one being picked on the way – while probably over five missed the bus either from the onset on within the travel route.  It was cool, towards cold, with the sun completely buried by layers of black clouds.  It seemed that it would rain at some point.  Soon.  In the next hour.

We tried to reach a parking lot around Upper Hill at 6.25am, only for the Police to direct us to go towards Kenyatta Avenue and access Uhuru park from that route.  That was not to be, since we found the road closed at State House road junction.  That is where we disembarked as the driver tried to get some parking slot, which he said would be around Integrity house.

Everybody was in high spirit.  The 42km full marathon was only 20 minutes away.  The crowds were already swelling at Uhuru park, with the starting line jammed by all manner of runners, 42k or otherwise.  It took a reminder to reduce the numbers.

“Let us have only the 42km runners, those with red run numbers,” the public address bellowed.

“All other runners, please move back to the 21k starting line,” he urged.

“Those running 10k should in fact head to Uhuru highway where their run shall start.”

Anthem

That reduced the crowd a little bit.  A little bit, since many runners still refused to give way, even though they had the blue run numbers denoting 21k or even the green ones denoting 10k.  Despite this, the two national anthems were ‘brassed’ out – rather the brass band played the instrumental for the Kenyan national anthem then the East African anthem.

The wheel chair race started at 6.50am, while I was gone for the ‘last washroom’.

“You must pay,” the operator instructed.

I have known better over time, that you need to go for these marathons with some money.  Surprises usually await.

I gave out a 50-shilling note and was ushered in without my change, “Sina change.  Ngoja,” is the directive the ushered me in.

Five minutes later, and I was still waiting for change, with my run already on the countdown.

“You must pay,” he instructed another group of runners.

“We have no money,” they said.

“There is money in the car…. And toilets for marathoners should be free,” a guy in the group responded.

“I am so pressed,” a lady urged, “Let me just use.”

With a stretched hand, the operator motioned, “You pay, you use.”

Gagged

“I shall pay for the gent and lady,” I volunteered, more to reduce the change that I was waiting for, than in support of the operator.  That is how I got my 20-bob back and had to run to the direction of the starting line.

Why did I opt to pay, when there were many ‘free’ portable loos?  I already had a bad experience when I arrived at the venue for the first break.  The cubicle that I used, which was claimed to ‘the best’, had a puking experience.  I have never seen such a mess since secondary school days.  I gagged out after using the plastic structure.  It was the worst experience on this good day.  I was not going to use any of those freebies ever, unless I wanted my stomach to go to empty.

The run started one minute late.  At 7.01am, we started our timers and off we went.  I was with Janet, who was doing her inaugural 42.  Donning runner no. 1279, I was soon on my own as each runner found their pace.

*Image extracted from marathon organizers site (nairobimarathon.com)

Same old

The route was generally the same, apart from the starting point that had been pulled back about 400m onto Processional way, instead of Upper Hill road, Railway club where it started last year.  The rest of the route turned out to be largely unchanged, apart from maybe an extension of a turning point here and there, or a reduction in some rare cases.

I have already said that the weather started good… and it remained good the whole run.  No sun, just shade.  Some threat of rain and hardly any cold.  No breeze, and so it turned out to be a ‘sweaty’ run with no draft to keep that sweat out.

I usually plan my 42k as a two-part run – the first 21k from start to Nyayo stadium, then another 21k on Mombasa road.  I further divide the Mombasa road bit into two also – just for the sake of manageability.  10km first loop, 10km second loop… and of course a final 1km back to the Start/Finish.  With that done, the run is manageable since I have run all these variants of the 42k total at some point.  I did four ‘international halfs’ in the last two months, each 21k.  I do a 10k run at least once a week.  Think about the 42k as back-to-back of 3 of these runs i.e. 21+10+10… of course… +1.  However, it is easier done mathematically than practically.  Practically, you are already ‘done’ by the time you hit Nyayo stadium at 21k.  How you will do another 21k is akin a miracle!

Miracles

But miracles do happen, and that is why breaking it down helps.  The 21k to Nyayo was uneventful.  Nothing extra ordinary on the route.  Water points everywhere.  With water, if I may add.  The first water point being hardly 2km from the start.  The usual interval is 5km.  The organizers exceeded my expectation on this front.  The crowd of runners all along the route as expected in the marathon.  Starting with the thin stream of ‘red labelled’ numbers, followed and overtaken at some point by the ‘blue labelled’ sprinters.  At 21km, only 42km runners hit Mombasa road, where they are on their own for the two circuits.

The first circuit was quite good.  I did not feel it as much.  It just started, then somehow before long, I did the U-turn near Cabanas and was soon back to Nyayo stadium – done.  The second circuit was another story.  It was the ‘stressful one’.  I somehow, by willpower only… and water of course which was still plentiful even on Mombasa road… somehow, I managed.  The most difficult point was after the U-turn on second circuit, that should be at around 35km.  You just feel that the body has ‘refused’.  The legs wobble and you can imagine fainting and collapsing with every step that you take.

“Strong!,” a stranger beside the road shouts… to no one in particular.

“Baby steps…. To the finish line,” another stranger directs a shout to one of the runners ahead of me, clad in yellow T.

I do not respond.  I do not recall seeing the yellow T respond.  Maybe I am too tired to even notice what is going on.  Maybe I already fainted and it is just my subconscious playing tricks.  I don’t know nothing at this point.  The only thing I know for sure is that I am picking a water bottle at every station and forcing a sip as many times as I can.  I am not letting go of a bottle until I see the next station.  Just then, I see Janet just ahead.

“Will I manage?” she asks my passing form.

“You shall make it… Just one more circuit,” I update her, “Remember to keep taking water through out,” I turn back to give that final one.

Glad

I am glad to see that sign that shows, “42km loop 1 right turn, 42km loop 2 Finish straight ahead”.  I keep to the right as I now get to the Nyayo stadium roundabout.  I now know that I shall be done in a kilometer or so.  Nonetheless, this was the most difficult k of all.  I kept going and could not reach the finish line.  I can hear the public address and the ongoing festivities at the finish line area at Railway club.  The place seems too near yet so far.  The road is now jam packed by the 21k runners, most of them just walking.  They look at me as “a crazy guy who has decided to run when we are all walking”.  I am too tired and too gone to even care to notice.

This k is surely long.  I have gone over the railway flyover, but I cannot seem to reach the finish line.  I make a turn at Haile Sellasie towards Railway club and the finishing point is still nowhere to be seen.  I am now at the brink of collapsing.  Any minute now and my legs shall be the last sign that I can’t do any more distance since they shall just give way on the tarmac.  I see the word, “Finish” illuminated in red neon, hang above the road just ahead.  The road is however full and packed with walkers and ‘selfie’ takers.  It is a nightmare to pass through.  I know that if I stop I shall collapse.  So I keep running the last 400m to the finish.

“Teet teet,” the mat reacts as I cross over.  I regain consciousness and stop my timer at 3.34.15 (42.63km).
(*UPDATE of 12-Nov-2018: final results as per the official timing by the organizers is 3.33.58(chip time) / 3.34.09(gun time), being position 212 out of 499.  I am on page 15 of the 34 page results table)

But… but.. surprisingly now I am energized once more.  My strength is back.  I can walk without much ado and there is no big deal.  I do not feel any peculiar pains.  I am quite OK.  I start wondering whether this was a real 42k or there is another finish line.  No wonder I was not given a medal!!

On your own

“Where are the medals?,” I remember asking, since no one dished any out.  Traditionally, you get one as you cross the finish line.

“Go to Railway club,” the attendant advises, even as I now join a train of runners from 42k, 21k and even 10k streams, all heading to the club, about 400 meters away.  This is the slowest train that I have ever taken!.  After some journey, we get the medals for our particular runs.  Someone with a felt pen ticks on our bib numbers upon collection of medals.  They do not seem to care about tearing out the lower portion of the bib, which they traditionally do retain.

“Wow,” I exclaim in amazement, to no one in particular, just to myself, but loudly.  The wow reaction is from the design of the medal.  The medal looks good.  It is well crafted in a good pattern, unlike the traditional circular things we are used to.  “15 years – 42km Finisher – Nairobi Marathon 2018”.  I note that the 42k ones are ‘goldish’, the 21k are ‘silverish’, while the 10k are ‘bronzish’.  Maybe they have always been this way – I don’t know – but I noticed today.  What I also noticed today was that there were no distance markers all through the route.  All my distance estimates were just from past experience or tired-o-meter readings.  No wonder I said that for the 2018 run, “you are on your own”, with nothing to guide you but experience, instinct or just run until you hit the finish line.

Final results
The men's full marathon was won in 2.14.19, with the next two positions being done in 2.15.01 and 2.15.09

In a time of 2.33.11, Josephine conquered the divas course, followed by a 2.34.12 then a 2.34.53.

Real history was made in the divas 21k run when Valary, the 2017 winner won for a second consecutive time in 1.12.02 , followed by a 1.13.37, then a 1.14.05 in third position.

The guys did some history of their own, when the the 2012 21k men's winner repeated the feat in 1.04.57, followed by 1.05.24 and 1.05.32.


Will I do this again or do I ‘finally’ take that retirement and settled on the more manageable 21?

WWB ‘the coach’ – Nairobi Kenya – Oct. 28, 2018

The fourth half - 21-o-12 - The mirror

The fourth half - 21-o-12 - The mirror

*Screenshot courtesy of Edu

Fastest

“You are the slowest runners in the world”, Edward said amidst mouthfuls of chocolate.

This was about one hour thirty minutes after the run, 9.00pm to be precise.  The venue was the international diner – the poolside.  The music was already deafening, and we were only talking because we were outside the main bar where QHD was spinning.

A box of chocolate was a special treat for the finishers of the ‘fourth-half’ dubbed 21-o-12 aka ‘the mirror’.  This run was publicized for 12th October, as the very last international half marathon before the Nairobi International marathon set for Sunday October 28. 

“These are the best chocolates that I have eaten in a long time,” Beryl stated, ignoring the comment by Edu.

“Exported, I see,” I commented in the middle of my savouring.  I was on the receiving end today and so needed to do everything to get us off the topic of discussion.  It did not work!

“How long did you guys take?,” Edu prodded, not willing to let go.

“Two-hours fifty,” the coach stated.

“Yes, and the run was the greatest ever!,” Beryl added.

“We finished in two hours twenty-seven ourselves,” Fay updated us.  I could feel the triumph in the way she emphasized the time, “But you guys need to be serious.”

Serious

When the fourth half started at 4.35pm from the Generator earlier in the day, I witnessed the biggest crowd ever.  We were thirteen!  Repeat thirteen!  We started with a penta, and a similar quintet during the first two halfs.  The third half had a septet.  However, this particular run had the greatest number ever raised for ‘a half’ – four marathoneresses and nine marathoners.  As per rules of any international, all started by confirming their run distances and routes.  Johnny and Karen had already declared that they would be doing a shorter route – 13k.  Eliud had stated that he was “too old to do the marathon” and had indicated that he would do ‘a 16’.  The rest of the gals, the trio of Fay, Janet and Beryl, and the rest of the boys, including Coach were all set for the big-21.

Edu had swung a surprise on us by, for the first time ever, introducing reflector jackets for ‘route marshals’.  Three runners did adorn the ‘first aider’ reflector jackets.  Edu was with a jacket and was in the first fast group.  Moses and his jacket was in the middle group, while ‘the coach’ was a ‘first-aider’ at the rear of the pack, with the slow runners – the real fun runners.  These three divisions of the 21k somehow maintained their formation to the finish line, with the fastest two finishing in 2.05, the middle group of six doing it in 2.27, while my duo finished in 2.50.  Those who did not do the ‘21’ did a shorter ‘13’.

“What was the idea with the jackets?,” I questioned Edu, of course, amidst a munch of a piece from the assortment of the 36 pieces of chocolate from Deutsche Bundesrepublik.  The run was ended and we had nothing else to do but chat over it… and munch over it.

“Initially, I had picked the fire marshal jackets…,” he started, but we could not allow him to finish since we burst out laughing.

“You mean that you expected ‘a fire’ during ‘the mirror’?,” the four around the dinner table asked, almost in unison.  The five celebrating the fourth international were Fay, Edu, Ralph, Beryl and I.

“I just wanted something reflective…. The fire jackets seemed the most accessible ones before I managed to get the alternative”

*Screenshot courtesy of Eliud

The run

We reflected upon the run and discovered that there were quite a number of ‘surprises’ that occurred during ‘the mirror’.  To start with, Eliud, who was to do a 16k decided that the run was ‘too sweet’ to cut it short and hence did the full half, finishing with Ralph in group 1.  He run alongside Ralph who concluded that, “Eliud is a ‘bad’ runner!  Alinileteeee, ai, that guy is bad news.”

But that is the fun of the run, saying ‘this’ and ending up doing ‘that’.

The middle group of Edu and the gals did a somehow comfortable run, with the only comment being that, “We waited for you two, but we could not see you anywhere,” Edu said in reference to the current discussion as to why we took ‘forever’ to run.  Thinking about it, this seemed to be an excuse for being beaten by over 20-minutes by group 1.

“Your first run was 2.25, then 2.40, and now 2.50,” Edu reminded the table of five, “At this rate your next run shall be over the three hour mark!”

“Enyewe, mna ‘wana’ sana,” Fay added, “Kwanza we Beryl, you used to hit the 21 very comfortably.  You even did the Family bank marathon in Eldy last week in 2hr 10min”

“What is up with you guys today?,” I queried on behalf of Beryl who was in-between a chocolate, “Isn’t the definition of ‘fun run’ supposed to be ‘fun run’?”

Beryl agreed, “Give us a break.  I was drawing on the wisdom of the coach, and do not dare me… us… since we shall beat you square come the next run.”

(To give a confession, my duo spent most of the run walking and storying.  So when I was defining ‘fun run’ earlier on, I was serious about the definition.)

Fortunately, this was the last run before the Nairobi International Marathon scheduled for Sunday, October 28, 2018…. Only to read that email from Edu that we should be preparing for ‘2123’ – the fifth half on Friday, Nov. 23, 2018.  Who cares?  Bring it on!  This shall be the ‘B-and-B run’ (or is it B-and-C run?), as we beat all these noise makers to the finish line.  Watch out Edu and the rest of you pretenders.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, October 12, 2018

Ndakaini 2018 – the run that never was (almost)

Ndakaini 2018 – the run that never was (almost)

“Mbona hulewangi Sunday?”

What the….?

That is exactly how my Saturday morning started, when I boarded the 14-seater matatu at the Uthiru highway at around 5.10am.  I had to wake up at 4.30am for breakfast and was out of the house at 4.55am.  I spent 5 minutes convincing the watchie to be steady enough to open the two padlocks of the compound gate.  He was from deep slumber and his mind was not yet sober for the reality of the morning.

“Mbona hulewangi Sunday?,” the lady repeated.

“Unajua Monday ni job, na nitasumbuka na sleep kwa ofisi,” her lady colleague responded.

It was evident that they were both too drunk to care that they were speaking at the top of their voices, in this small vessel, for all to hear.  They did not seem to care if walls have ears, it was story time.  By the way, I have observed that the drink deafens and hence the sound level has to be high be it talk, music or quarrel.

“Kula tu ka-sausage with pilipili, na soda ya stoney,” the asker informed the respondent.

“Utakua sober whole day, try it,” she concluded, even as she shouted to the conductor to stop at the Maunte stage.

But that was after they filled us in about the brawl that they had just had.

“Chali yangu ni mjelous, ye ndio alianza hiyo vita,” the lady who had been given the prescription shouted out, then for the benefit of team mafisi added, “Lakini I love him, he is the only one.”

Never give up

“I shall try it,” I said subconsciously after they disembarked.  That was not to be the last of the drunks we were to share a matatu with this morning.  After Westlands, there is this famous club that parks many cars on the road and seems noisy at the wee.  Galileo is it?  Something like that.  That  is where we carried the next drunk – with his evidence being half a bottle of some drink, Chivas, I guess, having seen a similar empty bottle at the work place kitchen – where code of conduct rule no. 8 is ”You can only drink at the bar”

The matatu dropped me and a fellow runner at the junction of Kenyatta Avenue and Moi Avenue.  We walked to Reinsurance Plaza, just on the other side of Hilton after passing through Kimathi Street.  The bus was there alright, but no one was in, apart from the driver.  Slowly by slowly the few runners started trickling in, each checking their names by the organizer, before boarding.  We should have left Nairobi at 6.00am sharp, according to the many reminder smses that we got.  Kenyans being Kenyans, the last athlete came in unapologetically at 6.20am.  The MM bus left the city at 6.25am.  The 40-seater had each of its seats with only one athlete seated.  This turnout was worse than I thought.  Canceling it when scheduled in September, then reconsidering it at the last minute just last week was not such a good idea.  Traditionally, at least six buses would leave the city for Ndakaini.  This time round, a half-bus left the city for Ndakaini.

The bug

The journey was uneventful.  We passed by Thika at 7.05am and took our left turn towards Gatanga.  This section led us all the way to Ndakaini where we arrived at 8.00am for the run that was to start at 8.00am.  Then the game changer happened, “Mtu asiache chochote kwa basi,” the pilot announced on the natural intercom by just shouting it out.  And… and this is the very first time that I had decided to carry a bag.  In it were two phones, a newspaper and some shopping bags.  It weighed about 1kg in totality, but I did not plan to run with it – how do you even run dressed in a bag?

I hardly comprehended what was going on before the run started, just like that, at 8.02am.  I still had the bag at hand wondering what to do with it.  With the feet already pounding the gravel, I did not have a choice but just to strap the bag on my back and join the rhythm of feet.  I was adorned with the marathon type bag, the one with two strings on either side.  By 5min of run, which is just outside the Nairobi Water main offices, the strings were already strangling my neck.  I had to find a new formula to carry it on my back by strapping an X shaped pattern on my stomach area and passing some of the strings on my shoulders.  This bag was the biggest bother that I have ever had on a run that is officially the toughest in the world.

“Damn the driver,” I shouted to myself as I hit the 2km turning point, where we now head to the first river, then we start the continuous hills to the finish.

“Damn the bag, damn everything!”

Ready or not

I was fully prepared for this run by virtue of three international halfs in the last two months.  Endurance was not the issue, finishing the run was not the issue.  The issue was just this ‘bug’ and my final run time.  Having skipped last year’s run, due to another change of date, due to electioneering issues*, I did not expect any difference in the run, if Ndakaini was still Ndakaini.  And… and Ndakaini was still Ndakaini.  

*For information, even the Nairobi International marathon of last year was rescheduled to November, from the traditional October month.

The good – bottled water every 5km.  Instead of 4 points by calculation, they threw in two additional water points, just for the fun of it.  

The good – sponge stations, every 10km.  Instead of 2 points by calculation, they threw in an additional point, just for the fun of it.  Enough respect to Ndakaini.  It is the only marathon in Kenya at the moment with sponge stations.  With sponges, that are moisten and ready for use by any athlete who picks.

Ndakaini the bad – 21km of hill.  I do not know whether this is on ‘the bad’ list.  This is what makes Ndakaini be called Ndakaini.  It is what gives it its name, but let us for a moment keep it in this list, you will be the judge.  

The bad – no certificates and no medals… and no timing chips.  But let us go back to the run for a moment….

I am now a veteran of Ndakaini.  This is my run no. 5, so I know this run like the back of my running shoes.  There is always a surprise at every turn.  The trick with this run is to approach the turns and corners with caution.  Chances are that there is a surprise awaiting – and usually this is some new hilly section.  You can imagine the agony of sprinting towards a bend only to encounter one of the 10 hills!  You are finished there and then.  I have mastered this ‘a surprise awaits’ so much that I never get caught off guard by any of those hills.

The road ahead

Since the run of ‘very few’ was flagged off, I had been running on my own.  I overtook quite a number of runners, but another three or so also overtook me over the course anyways.  I encountered a few ‘cheaters’ sorry ‘cheats’.  Some runners did not bother start at the starting line.  They just joined in whenever they saw the runners coming their direction.

My best moments were the ‘surprise’ hills, where athletes would just come to a standstill.  That is when I would just overtake without much effort.  The hills are tough, but if you are walking then be ready to be overtaken – what else?

“Biya isho,” someone shouted in my direction.  It was a member of the spectators.

I knew that for sure I was not carrying any ‘beer’, so that was a surprising comment.  If anything, I had my phones in the bag on my back, and rattling in my pockets caused by some keys and coins, currency, Kenya money.  It took me a translation five hours after the run to know the effect of rattling of currency to bystanders.

“Tupa bag,” was another shout that I encountered.

I threw off my bag and it landed somewhere behind me.  I kept running and did not get any relief.  Sorry, it was my sub-conscience that threw that bag, since in reality I kept running with my bag.  This was at the final corner, that 90 degrees bend that goes downhill, and at the foot of the downhill you get the dreaded 45 degrees hill!

Cortisone

The adrenalin kicked in when I realized that there were no more hills.  However, for your peace of mind, always know that there shall still be another hill.  You have not seen or experience the last of the hills.  Keep that in mind while doing the Ndakaini until you cross the finish line – that is how you survive Ndakaini.  However, the veteran in me knew for sure that the hills were now done when I reached that last shopping centre where you make a 90 degrees turn to the left.  Hit that and you now know that you are on the 3km home stretch.  And… and this is where the adrenalin kicked in.  I overtook upto four athletes, two of whom had been in front of me for eons.  I just zoomed past them.  I did not even understand myself where the energy came from.  One of the overtaken chased after me, caught up, overtook me, but miscalculated the terrain, leading to his downfall.  When I said the hills had ended, I just meant the 40-45 degree ones.  We still had mild hills ahead and that is where I zoomed past him again – just for the love of the game, nothing personal – athletes are universal friends, it is the game that spoils things.

The finish line appeared from nowhere.  It was like I had not done the 3km since the market, but there it was, “Ndakaini Start/Finish 21km”.

I stopped my timer at 1.49.00 – the first time that the seconds have been exactly zero.

Surprises

An official slipped a small piece of card into my hands, the size of an ATM card.  On it was written “24”.

“What is this,” I asked amid gulps of water.

“Your position, go register your details at the next desk.”

At the registration desk, there were only 3 questions, whose responses were recorded on the paper:

“Your number?”

“0328,” I responded.

“Your name?”

“Check the online registration system for crying out loud!,” I thought of saying, but I did not.  I instead responded with the name.

“Your position and card?”

I stated “Jack Bauer” and handed over the card.

He just looked at me with utter disbelief, while I moved out of the tent.

“Hebu gota!,” a stranger beckoned, “Nilikujaribu, but you beat me fair and square.”

I immediately recognized the athlete as the one we had the hill test with after the 18k.

“You are good yourself. It was just my day,” I responded, team spirit guiding my choice of words.

Ten minutes later as I was walking towards the bus…

“WB, or maybe not,” someone encountered me, hesitated and waited for reaffirmation.  Only those very close to me know that presidential name.  A stranger beckoning would be unexpected some 100km from my usual territory. But wait a minute... 

“Geff?, What are you doing here, in Kenya!  At Ndakaini!!”

“I am running the first Ndakaini,” he stated, as a matter of fact, “This run was tough!”

“10 or 5?,” I queried.

“Twenty-one, however, Terry did better than me.”

By this time we were walking back, just catching up.

“You mean Terry is here?”

“Sure thing, we did the run together, but she beat me to it”

It was quite a pleasant surprise to meet the duo, whom I had last met in my previous life at Telkom.  By then I was not a runner.  To my understanding, both had left their duty station as volunteer teachers at a local Gilgil school and travelled back to the UK, for keeps.  Those who know my story already know that I started my runs when I left Telkom for research.

“You still do IT?,” he asked.

“Nope, retired back to Engineering”

“But…. But you were the IT guy?  Anything computer was you?”

“Ebindu bichenjanga,” that just slipped from my mouth, unintended.

“Ebi-what?”

“ABCD, I was just mumbling after a tough run!”

The Experiences

With Ndakaini marathon facing one of the lowest turnouts in history, I do hope that they shall quickly get a sponsor on board so that this run on its 14th edition retains its status as the toughest, while it also achieves the continuity that its big brother has.  Their difference after all is only a year.  Nairobi International marathon aka Stanchart where we are going next is on its 15th edition come October 28, 2018.

Finally, few comments that I gathered from the runners from Nairobi, those on the MM bus:

“First time, and toughest run ever”

As to whether she shall be back, she responded, “Definitely, but for another 10 before I move on to the big one”

“I am now ready for Stanchart,” some other lady stated loudly, while getting into the bus, for the benefit of all.

“Stanchart is nothing compared to this,” she concluded.

“I am happy and sad,” one gent said.

While we were puzzled on how you can mix bronze with clay, he elaborated, “I have nothing to finally show my grandchildren when I get them.  No medal, no certificate.  What will I tell my grandchildren?”

That is called thinking ahead… way ahead, just like thinking about the 2019 Ndakaini run which is a must.  Ndakaini just has ‘it’.  You just need to experience it yourself.

WWB, the Coach, Nairobi, Kenya, October 6, 2018